29 March 2017

If the Canadian band Les 409 are known for anything much at all outside their home nation (and possibly even the Quebec region) it's probably their single "They Say/ Born In Chicago", two fuzzy pieces of garage pop which are archived over on YouTube. The single is ranked up there with Nuggets-compiled fellow Canucks The Haunted's "125", and probably would get more plays by DJs in mod/ garage clubs if only copies of the damn record weren't so hard to come by.

Back when they formed in 1963 it's true to say that Les 409 were raw and bluesy, but eventually this slick recording slipped out. Carefully produced by Easy Listening legend (and enigma) Martin Martin, the A-side is a French translation of The Beatles single "Hello Goodbye". The instrumental arrangements are a very sympathetic facsimile of the original, but the vocals push harder and seem slightly more abrasive - and, regrettably, sometimes less in-tune - than the original. Like most Beatles covers, it takes few liberties and might be regarded as completely inessential if you ignore the fact that a French version of the Fab Four's most lyrically simple song is an entertainingly absurd idea.

Much better material is to be found on the flip. "Un Amour Complique" is a wonderfully rich piece of swinging orchestrated pop which is clearly more influenced by the sixties French pop scene than anything in the UK. Filled with beautiful flourishes and subtly addictive melodies, it sees both the band and Martin on top form, a far cry from their ballsy garage roots but still creating great music which is dramatic in an altogether different way.

If anyone knows what became of Les 409 please let me know. There's plenty of information about their period of activity online, but not much about what became of them all afterwards.

26 March 2017

Before they really got a grip on the UK market, Polydor released a slurry of flop singles which were barely heard at the time, and have drifted into absolute obscurity since. These were often by artists who haven't even managed to gain an entry in the usually exhaustive "Tapestry of Delights" encyclopaedia of sixties pop.

That's certainly the case with The Hallmarks here, who appear to have been a folk rock group based in Britain (though it's hard to say for sure). The A-side here, "One Way Street", is a rather underproduced but strident piece of work, with the vocals somewhat suffocated in the mix by a treacle of chiming guitars and thumping drums. No matter - the song itself is actually an enjoyable example of the folk rock genre, containing close Mama and Papas-esque vocal harmonies, wintery sleigh bells, and a jingle jangle morning air. With a more sympathetic mix, it's possible to imagine this having been a hit, however by January 1967 folk rock was beginning to seem a bit passe, and more ambitious songwriting and production was beginning to shape the pop landscape.

Whoever they were, The Hallmarks seemingly never issued another record, and naffed off after this without leaving behind any clues to their identity. The A-side was also recorded by the Irish group Brendan Bowyer and The Royal Showband, aka The Royal Showband Waterford, so it's possible that the group were actually Irish rather than British. Equally possibly, however, "One Way Street" might have been a Denmark Street composition bought up by both bands at different times. Who knows? Certainly not me, that's for sure.

22 March 2017

Here's an obscure little single. Sky were from Aldershot and boasted Sparks' future drummer Dinky Diamond in their line-up, but beyond that details of their personnel are sketchy.

Whoever they were, these are two very different sides. The A-side "On Our Way" is a Spanish holiday flavoured, anthemic pub singalong which is a bit too simple for its own good - I've been known to lift a flagon of booze and "la la la" my way to oblivion with the best and worst of them, but this track falls under the category of "not quite subtle enough for Chas & Dave", and would have become impossibly irritating if it had actually become a hit.

The flip "The Singer Is Singing His Song", on the other hand, is a vaguely popsikey effort with a similar anthemic feel, but has vague shades of the Moody Blues about it and has subtle flowery frills and melodic diversions to offer. When I first bought this single, I assumed this was the A-side and "On Our Way" was the throwaway flip, but every source I've looked at disagrees with me, so I can only assume Decca heard some commercial potential with the plug side that I just can't.

After this single failed the band would jump ship to Bell to release "Long, Long Gone", but that also stiffed and the band were long, long gone themselves shortly afterwards. If anyone can provide more information about the line-up, please let me know.

19 March 2017

I used to know someone called Judd, a denim-clad gentleman who had spent some time in the USA and still had a certain Transatlantic growl to his voice. "Hey geez-errrr!" he'd yell to people he knew as they entered the pub. Then he'd wander over to the jukebox, and complain "You wanna know the problem with this thing? Not enough ROCK on it".

For years I wondered if this record might just be something to do with him, but it was never likely. The Judd I knew was the kind of chap who would never have shut up about the fact that he had once made a record. And of course it's not. Judd was actually the group name given to ex-Quiet Five member Kris Ife and a group of "itinerant" session musicians, who were all produced by studio genius Mark Wirtz.

Kris has already featured on this blog, but "Snarlin' Mumma Lion" is rather unlike a lot of his other work. It has a backwater American rock vibe to it - an odd direction for him to take, but odder still for his co-songwriter and producer Mark Wirtz. This is a far cry from his "Teenage Opera" years and really showed how diverse he could be with his writing and production styles. It's a nagging, persuasive beast of a record, though, and while it can't count among Wirtz's best - or Ife's best, for that matter - it's got a punch to it that just can't be ignored.

I've covered both Ife and Wirtz before on this blog, which leaves me at a bit of a loss to say much more about their careers. Suffice to say, though, "Snarlin' Mumma Lion" wasn't a hit, though it did enjoy issues across numerous European territories, meaning there are picture sleeve versions for interested collectors to burn their cash on, if they should desire.

15 March 2017

Tommy James and The Shondell's "Mony Mony" is, to this day, a bit of a floor-filler. Whilst I can't profess to truly adore the single myself and only play it once every so often at home, there's still something incredibly potent about the track at high volume at around one in the morning. It's a record you can tease the wallflowers with, those uncertain looking people propped up at the bar who have been frantically tapping their feet all evening as if they're about to make a move, only to uncertainly twitch away from the action. It's also one of those records for which bouts of hand-clapping are only to be expected. Handily, you can also follow it with just about any sixties pounder of the same tempo and keep people on the floor, even if it's an ultra-obscure flop like Chris Andrews' "Yo Yo" (I've done it).

Covers of the track have always been apparent, with attempts from Amazulu and Billy Idol working their way out of pressing plants in the eighties alone. This particular stomping seventies glam version of the record perhaps should have been a hit at the time - whoever had the idea that the track's pounding would lend itself well to the echoing thud and slap of glitter grooves was obviously utterly on the money. There's space and sparseness to this effort which does create a major contrast between the noisy, busy nature of the original, but for all that it's still a nagging little disc which seems determined to pull people towards the dancefloor.

As for who Boss were, I'm guessing that they were a studio group formed for the benefit of this record rather than a 'proper' gigging band. However, the B-side "Live Together" - a cover of a track by the equally obscure group Trainer - is a very different beast altogether (beneath the scratchy noises, which I apologise for) appearing to be an almost Joe Cocker-styled ballad designed to highlight the singer's talents. I'm guessing the members of this group will have done other things besides in their careers, and please leave a comment if you know more.

12 March 2017

I find it hard to believe that this is the second cover version of "Cold Turkey" I've uploaded to this site (the first was by David Byron of Uriah Heep, who contributed his vocal intepretation to a budget covers EP). My amazement largely stems from the fact that the original John Lennon single was an ignoble flop by the Beatle standards of the day, reaching a mere number 14 in the UK charts, and is very seldom heard at all these days.

Nonetheless, a rocker from Canada called Stanley Frank took the song under his wing in 1977 and really upped the ante with it, taking the pulsing and tortured original and turning into a slice of Hard Rock. It buzzsaws its way through the Lennon tune and shoves the needles into the red, screeching its way to the inevitable climax. While no amount of reworking can disguise the fact that the original song always was a little disappointing, this to me has more energy and a greater sense of dynamics than the original - not something I would ever claim lightly. Frank makes it sound as if it was always born to be a seventies rock track and Lennon's version was just a demo.

As for our Stanley, he was from Montreal and relocated himself to the UK at the height of punk in the late seventies, too early for a revived Heavy Metal circuit, and too late for the mid-seventies rock heyday. He briefly had dealings with the Power Exchange label who tried to hype him as a "New Wave" artist, but it's doubtful that the ruse fooled more than a few people. He eventually settled on to A&M records where he issued the LP "Play It Till It Hurts" in 1980.

He remains active as a songwriter to this day, and has a website where you can sample his tunes. One of them in particular, "Run To The Sun", is a piece of West Coast soaked power pop goodness.

5 March 2017

Keen "Left and to the Back" readers will know that in July of last year, I uploaded Starbuck's "Do You Like Boys?" for everyone's delight and delectation. There's much more about the flop disc here (beneath the blurb about the equally fascinating Prowler single) but in a nutshell, it was a gay glam rock record which failed to pick up much radio airplay. "Do you go for a mean, aggressive bear?" Starbuck asked their listeners forcefully.

The plot gets much thicker, because a full five years after that single flopped, Bryan Evans decided to have another bash at making it a hit, albeit with Howard and Blaikley's original lyrics dramatically altered to obscure the original reading. Gone are the references to homosexual attraction, and instead the song could be interpreted as Bryan selling himself as something of a ladies man, seemingly questioning whether the woman of his desires is either asexual or a lesbian. "Dont'cha Like Boys?" he asks, while squealing analogue synths go off around him like personal attack alarms. Of course, if you've heard the Starbuck original first, it's hard to hear the question in quite such a way, and it still manages to seem flamboyant and camp. The directness is lost, and it's become an object of ambiguity instead.

It's a baffling addition to the Howard and Blaikley canon, but you can't blame them for trying to turn a brilliant single into a proper hit. By 1978, though, the analogue keyboard sounds and stomping glam beats really were yesterday's news, and it stood not a hope in hell. A shame, as this is a spirited and different approach which at another point might have lead to success.

As for who Bryan Evans is or was, he had a string of 45s out in the seventies on a variety of labels from CBS to EMI, including a much-fancied (by collectors) version of Cream's "We're Going Wrong" - but beyond the fact that he briefly worked with Giorgio Moroder, I've struggled to identify him. If you have any clues, please leave me a comment below.

1 March 2017

This record has already been covered by a number of other blogs focussed on sixties obscurities, but given the quality of the contents on offer I felt I couldn't easily bypass it.

This is, as I believe the kids say, a nice double-header of a single, offering two sides of equal quality but distinctly different flavours. "You Don't Have To" is straight-ahead high-energy bubblegum bordering on garage, with the usual fizziness and buzziness you'd expect from such a track in this era. It's furiously catchy, determined and has the feel of a surefire hit. Unfortunately, it didn't receive much airplay in the USA and subsequently failed to chart.

Of much more interest to me is the moody folk-rock B-side "Run To Her", which is a breezy autumnal mope in one person's relationship break-up angst. So accomplished is it that it's astonishing it seemingly hasn't found a place on a sixties obscurities compilation yet - it's clearly on a par with numerous Nuggets of the same period, and is widely acclaimed across the world wide web.

The Beeds were originally called The Cat's Meow, and hailed from Staten Island, New York. They consisted of Richard Martinis on guitar and vocals, John Ventura on lead vocals, Lester Margolies on bass, Jay Clied on drums, and Pete Carver on guitar. Their debut single "La La Lu" inched into the US Top 100, but the follow up "True True Lovin'" failed to capitalise on its interest, and the group jumped from Decca to the Buddah subsidiary Team for this 45.

Their stint on Buddah - which forced them to change their name to The Beeds for contractual reasons - was equally brief, with only one other flop single ("Love Hurts") to their name on that label. The band seemed to have operated primarily as a live act, mostly performing covers on the thriving New York gig circuit, and once dropped by Buddah, pressing plants never heard from them again.

Followers

Follow by Email

What it is

Can't download the mp3s or zip files? Baffled by the point of this blog? Please go to the FAQ first of all. Your answer should be there.

NOTE - you can also join our Facebook group by clicking on this link or alternatively feel free to be a Twitter follower. My personal site where you can find out more about my writing can also be found here.

"Left and to the Back" is a blog exploring the dark and dusty world of flop singles and albums, the kind you may find lingering near the stock room of your local second hand record store (if you still have one), or perhaps going for extortionate sums on ebay.

For a better idea about the kind of music featured, both sublime and ridiculous, please go to our Spotify playlist here. Please note that L&TTB is not primarily a sixties blog, even though a lot of good "lost" material was released around this era and will be featured. In short, if I like it and it's interesting, I'll upload it. And sometimes if I don't like it but it's interesting, it will also feature.

The music uploaded to this site is for evaluation only, and where it is otherwise available at a reasonable price I would persuade you to support your local second hand record store by buying it. Many of the posts on here are about digging around in these shops and being thrilled by ridiculous and obscure finds, and I hope I'm persuading a few more readers to get out there and dig around. So please do dig. Man. No blog or download site can ever be an effective substitute.